Cinnamon and Smoke
Mankind has made many great contributions to society and the world: the wheel, modern medicine, and public education. The best, at least as far as Remus Lupin is concerned, are cinnamon chewing gum, cigarettes, and leather. His obsession and subsequent mental declaration that they were the pinnacle of human creativity revolve around one Sirius Black.
It started, like many things, on the cusp of adulthood. They were sixteen, often fairly drunk, and more than a little in love. It had been August at the Potters', and, like every summer that came before, the marauders were all present and shenanigans were had. Only this summer there were feelings, alcohol, and the deep-rooted desire to rebel. The feelings (and a fair amount of alcohol) were responsible for the kiss (and several subsequent kisses) between one Mssr. Padfoot and one Mssr. Moony ("Come on, Moony, one kiss and I'll let you go to bed." "I think that counts as extortion, Padfoot, as you are using both my extreme tiredness and my drunken admission that I might want to kiss one of the other marauders- which, by the way, I never said was you- against me." "But it's going to work, isn't it?" "Shut up and kiss me, Padfoot."). The need for Sirius to rebel against his parents (and, again, some of the alcohol) is what started Sirius' smoking habit. The cinnamon chewing gum was completely at Remus' insistence (well not cinnamon in particular, just "something that doesn't taste like that god-awful smoke"). The love of leather would come later. Sirius was 18, freshly graduated, a new owner of a motorbike (which he not only built himself but had also charmed to fly and which Remus had no intentions of riding on, not matter how "safe" Sirius declared the monstrosity to be), and in need of something to complete his "punk image." Remus just really liked how his boyfriend looked in a leather jacket. The smell of leather, like the cinnamon and the smoke and the motor oil, just became a part of Sirius as time wore on.
When December 1981 found Remus Lupin, he was broken and he was angry beyond belief and he was filled with so much sorrow, but, mostly, he was numb. And, it was in some tiny town that he was passing on his way to somewhere, anywhere, where he felt more than this numbness and this hollow ache, that time once again found Remus Lupin considering man's greatest contributions to the world and his answer, invariably, was cinnamon chewing gum, cigarettes, and leather. When all of the feeling has left, not just physical numbness but emotional numbness as well, when nothing hurts but everything aches, aches in a way that causes a weariness that creeps into his veins and seeps into his bones and embeds itself there, when the cold wind can't even sting his eyes anymore because they've been permanently stung by tears that just won't fall, tears he can't even find the energy to muster anymore, when everything filters in and out of the void that is his existence, the cherry tip of the kit cigarette is somehow perceptible when everything else is not. The acrid smoke burns his throat on the way in and his nose and his eyes on the way out, but the burn is the most he's felt since it's happened and, god, does it burn but it burns so well and even if it hurts at least it's there because no other sensation is. When the smoke runs out and the butt of the cigarette is crushed under the heel of his too-big leather boots that aren't his, he pulls out his second favorite human invention from the pocket of the leather jacket that hangs off his weary and too-skinny frame that isn't his either- cinnamon chewing gum. That perfect substance that holds the flavor of the smoke in his mouth and chases it with this spice, and the whole thing is bitter but so is Remus so at this point what's the difference, especially when it makes the burn last a little longer. And his third favorite, the leather, tries so hard to keep him warm but the boots and the jacket do such a piss-poor job of it, but he wears them anyway and he isn't bothered by the cold- not anymore- because, really, how can you be bothered by something you can't feel?
As Remus continues his way down the dimly lit street through another insignificant town on his way to nowhere, he is reminded of the faint light of midnight cigarettes he used to share, and he wonders, not for the first time since James and Lily and Peter's death and what might as well have been Sirius' death, if he'll live another year; he wonders if he cares. Probably not, he figures, and he wonders which of his own questions that answers and he wonders if he cares about that either. If he's dead then he figures he won't miss much, maybe the sting of cigarette smoke, the fee of leather on his skin, or the bitter taste of cinnamon. But, Remus remembers, these are things he's picked up from someone else: someone who is as good as dead, someone whose memory burns more than the smoke in his lungs, someone whose ghost he's been running from, someone whose name he's tried, and failed, to drown with whiskey and rum, someone who used to smoke ivory cigarettes and chew blood red gum and wear black leather and kiss him senseless, someone who was not what Remus thought he was.
So, no, Remus does not particularly care if he lives another day, month, year, or even ten years, because there's not enough time in the universe he could wait for Sirius to come back to him and there's not enough time that could heal his wounds. The only thing left for him to do is light another cigarette and keep walking because there's nothing for him here and there's nothing for him anywhere else either.
By some miracle, time sees Remus Lupin and Sirius Black again in 1994 and it's tense and Remus can't tear his eyes or his wand away from Sirius. He can't believe what he's seeing and he wonders, briefly, if it's the side effect of smoking too many cigarettes to chase the hollow ache from his chest for the last twelve years coupled with the impending full moon, even though he knows that's not possible. Remus has this need then, in this tense silence, to throw himself at Sirius and never let go, though whether he wants to strangle him or hug him he isn't entirely sure, though, apparently, that doesn't matter because, in the span of a moment and almost of their own accord, his arms are around Sirius and they're hugging and he isn't sure if he'll ever be able to let go and, somewhere beneath the grime and the smell of wet dog, Sirius still smells like cinnamon and smoke.